


Every Day

by 1004_Angel



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Adrien Plays the Piano, F/M, Gen, Marinette Sells Croissants, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 04:54:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6180946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1004_Angel/pseuds/1004_Angel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some days, the baker’s daughter would stand outside with fresh croissants. She usually stood just outside the door to their small shop, dressed in pastel colors that only illuminated the bright baby blue of her eyes. She had a beautiful smile. Sometimes, though, she decided to stand next to him and listen to him play. She smiled, dropped a note in his bag. He bought a croissant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Day

**Author's Note:**

> Totally un-edited and un-revised fluff.

Every day, he stood outside the small bakery. It was warm, cozy, like a hug from your mother that just felt like heaven. Soft music wafted through open windows, the small chime of bells as the door swung outward sang like laughing fairies. He liked it outside the small bakery, where the scent of freshly baked bread wafted into his nose and never failed to bring a smile to his face.

Every day, he would bring his keyboard with him to the bakery. It was heavy, lugging it all the way from his modest apartment, through the subway system, and still several blocks more until he stood before those warm doors. He would smile at the owners, and they would smile back. They knew him well by now. He always purchased his usual cheese Danish before heading outside again.

Every day, he set up his equipment across the street. He didn’t want to disturb the baker and his family. They were a charming threesome; father, mother, and daughter. He liked being across the street, where he could see everything that happened in the bakery. They lived above the small shop, and sometimes he could see their daughter lounging on her terrace like a far more exquisite version of Juliet.

Every day, he played his keyboard. He played his keyboard, set on grand piano mode, with the skill acquired through years of practice, of long nights at the piano bench, with a gnarly old woman breathing down his neck. He liked the piano. It was a beautiful, peaceful sound. Like a creek trickling down a ravine, or songbirds twittering overhead. It made people happy. Most just gave a passing smile, or a nod of their head. Sometimes he got a crowd. Sometimes they dropped notes into his bag. He didn’t really need the money. He just needed an excuse to stay near the bakery.

Some days, the baker’s daughter would stand outside with fresh croissants. She usually stood just outside the door to their small shop, dressed in pastel colors that only illuminated the bright baby blue of her eyes. She had a beautiful smile. Sometimes, though, she decided to stand next to him and listen to him play. She smiled, dropped a note in his bag. He bought a croissant.

Some days, people bought her croissants. They would pause on their way to work, shove a note into her waiting palms and be on their way, steaming bun in hand. She still smiled. Most times though, she would stand for hours, tray full of fresh bread, and no one would spare her a glance. She still smiled, still called out to passersby, and still no one would look her way. He didn’t like it when she wasn’t smiling.

One day, he brought a sign. He wasn’t very good at drawing. It was one of things he wanted to be good at, but he accepted his role in life as a pretty bad artist. This did not discourage him from drawing a steaming croissant on his sign. _Croissants only,_ said the sign. He placed it next to his bag and set up his equipment. She didn’t come outside to sell her croissants that day. He frowned, and removed the sign. She didn’t come outside the next day, or the day after that.

Every day, he brought his sign.

One day, the baker’s daughter came outside with her croissants. She crossed the street to stand next to him, smiling brightly. He smiled, too, and brought out his sign. _Croissants only._ She looked at the sign, then back at him. He grinned at her and began to play on his keyboard. He played a song that reminded him of a warm home, a loving family, and a hug from his mother. He played a song that reminded him of the baker’s daughter, how she stood outside and sold her croissants.

That day, many people bought croissants. Some ate them. Others dropped them into his bag. She had to run and get a second tray of croissants. Soon he had a large bag full of croissants. He realized he didn’t think this far. What was he supposed to do with a bag full of croissants?

The day was winding down. He decided it was time to go home, figure out what to do with all these croissants. When he looked up, the baker’s daughter was still standing beside him, her third tray now empty. She watched him as he gathered up all his croissants, still smiling, but an amused smile, a shy smile. He slung his packed equipment over his shoulder, and they looked at each other for a long time.

He finally smiled and held out his hand, offering her a croissant. She looked from him to the bread and back again, a giggle escaping her lips like wind chimes in spring. She reached out and took the croissant, her fingers brushing lightly against his as the treat was passed from one nervous hand to the other. He scratched the back of his neck shyly.

“See you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow.”

Every day, he stood across the street from the bakery.

Every day, she stood beside him, selling her croissants.

Every day, he brought his sign, _Croissants Only._

Every day, they smiled awkwardly at each other.

One day, she gives him her phone number, and suddenly “tomorrow” became “today,” and “every day” became a lifetime.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: "croissant" is used 15 times.  
> Find me on tumblr as @the-noble-idiot


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